


John and the Hound

by Tumbleweed_girl



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, F/F, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, No Smut, Romance, Slash, smutless, smutless in seatle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tumbleweed_girl/pseuds/Tumbleweed_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock/Beauty and the Beast AU: John is tired of the little town in which he resides. Every day just the same as the last. He wanted so much more than this... However, a series of events leads to this and that, pulling him to and fro and dragging him through the mulchy mess of 221B. His sister being kidnapped, a beast trying to win him over, a man of psychopathic nature trying to make him his own... In John's own words...'Bloody Hell'...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> (note: Also published on fan fiction under the same name with more chapters added if you want to read more there)

**P.R.O.L.O.G.U.E.**

“You… Your intolerance to others has become enough, dear Holmes! It is time you took into consideration how much you do in fact need others in your lifetime.”

There was a tremble beneath his usually stern and boldly raised chest. Something raising up through his body and creating a tingling sensation within his flesh. Staring by his chest but then creeping along all over his body. What was this? An itch? A germ?

No. It was an outbreak of something. All over his body. Something rising to the surface slowly and in a most agonizing way. Only slowly breaking through but rearranging his cells as it did so. _What was this_? What was trying to get out?!

Fur. And lots of it. Black like his usually curly hair.

“Unless you find a companion, this is how you will stay until you die. Oh, and don’t think the others living within this house will get away with it either. You, and all of those whom you take advantage of will stay as you are all becoming… Hmm…”

The man looked towards the woman, eyes narrowing whilst fangs fell and raised from his jaws.

“No… No, I’m not being quite fair, am I? I should at least give you a chance.” The woman pulled her drapes back over her shoulders, giving the other a delicate smile. “In your study, I do believe you’ll find an object to accurately represent your current sex life. You have one year to find a companion. If you do not, this object will break, leaving you and the other occupants of this castle as you have now become.”

The man let out a long howl of pain, claws breaking out beneath his nails and stretching his hands apart into paws. A painful transformation was taking him over. And he could do nothing to stop this crazy hag from doing it. Yelling out, he fell to his knees. It only caused the woman to chuckle teasingly, tutting and shaking her head.

“I always did like seeing a man on his knees… It’s such a shame you’re changing into… well, _this_. It would have been so easy  for you to find someone with your pretty pale face, cheekbones and what not… Oh well. Live and learn. You better hurry up and find someone soon though, dear _Sherlock_. Wouldn’t want you to lose these pretty looks forever.  So, Sherlock, The game, my dear _, is now on_ …”

* * *

 

6 MONTHS LATER…


	2. Chapter 1: John

 A new summer’s day began to dawn on the pleasant little Earth, upon which laid a quaint little country…in which laid a quaint little town. A small town in England in fact, out where there was enough countryside to get a taste of the great outdoors, whilst also having enough town life to be able to get a loaf of bread and some jam from just around the corner. It was as if this little town was built to accommodate every need of the inhabitants within it. No sense of negativity would ever make its way into the towns newspapers, and everything was made of pleasantries.  Every townsperson was happy in this little town, everyone was juvenile and everyone cherished the time they could live in what seemed like one little slice of heaven…

 But, that was all apart from one man. Mister John Watson.  This man seemed ordinary at first glance. A man who would wear sweet little jumpers and constantly had a faint smile rested upon his lips. He was youthful and brave with the heart and understanding of a wise old soldier, and yet was still in his mid twenties. He had lived in this quaint little town his whole life, and he was always the man who was willing to help out and care for everyone else in town. No person was left out when it came to John’s consideration. But there was one thing that John found himself envying and hating about his life.

 Everyday was exactly the same.

 “Good morning Mister Watson!” A townsperson would call to him, in which he would always respond with a warm smile and a little wave of his hand. He would always wear his same old jumpers, eat his same old jam and bread for breakfast, and would always spend his days helping the same old people. None of these things, none of them would aggravate or irritate him. None of them were necessarily bad to him. But they were always the same. Never differentiating the current day from the last. And that lead to John being… Bored. He wanted fantastic new experiences, he wanted to live life for once, and he certainly wanted to find exhilaration. _Danger._ It would bring a pulse to his life again.

 But what mad person would actually be interested in Danger? John felt alone in this little town, what with everyone else being content in a safe atmosphere. It seemed he was heading for the solitary life.... Oh, but it wasn’t like nobody was attracted to the man. Far from it, him being a sweet and kind man, yet brave and strong, unafraid to stand up for himself or others… Well, girls all over the place secretly admired and cooed over him. He was a ‘real cutie’ in the eyes of the female population of the little town. And he was ‘utterly adorable’ in the eyes of one particular… _man._

 On this pleasant little day any who, John Watson was wandering through this little town, collecting his groceries and walking home, when a hand slipped into his shopping bag and stole one of the jars of strawberry jam.

 “Wh- Hey! Give that ba-” As he turned to face this bloody cretin who thought they could take _his_ jam, he immediately cut himself off. His eyebrows still arched inwards, but now that he saw who it was… He was in less of a tizzy now that it might be a thief.

 “Dear me John… Jam Jam Jam, is that all you ever eat?” The man asked, shaking his head and tutting the slightest. “You need to ease up a little on this stuff. I mean, Jam may have lots of fruit in it, but it also has a _lot of sugar._ And with _white_ bread, oooh you’re going to gain a tummy. You already have a bit of a cute little pot belly…” The man grinned toothily, his smoothed down brown hair shaking slightly against the breeze as he spoke. “Remember Johnny boy, a moment on the lips, a _life_ time on the hips.”

 “Oh for goodness sake.” John quickly snatched the jam jar back and shoved it into his plastic shopping bag. “I’ll eat what I want, thank you very much.”

 “Woah ho, isn’t that cute, the spikes are coming out of this little hedgehog today, aren’t they?”  John narrowed his eyes as the smug smile washed across the lips of the other man, who was shrugging his shoulders gently in a teasing fashion.

 John sighed, turning his back towards him. “Look, what do you want, Jim?” 

 The other man smiled as John used his name. Jim Moriarty. Known well throughout the town as the unspoken leader, the one with the most power and the ability to give others whatever they wanted. Everyone in the town admired him. Well… Almost everyone in the town. Whereas he was loved by most happy go lucky folks, John could swear that Jim Moriarty was similar to something slimy. How was it that he managed to gain the trust of _everyone_ in this little town? No _one_ man should be able to do that. People usually had enemies and friends. It just made John a little suspicious and…  a tiny bit scared, quite frankly, of this man.

 “Oh John, I was just passing on by, saw you here and wanted to have a little talk.” As the man spoke, he began to wander around John so that they could come face to face, but it appeared that John tried to redirect Moriarty’s wandering gaze each and every time he came closer. “Something wrong with a little talk Johnny boy? Come ooon everybody loves a bit of chitter chatter. The worst kind of noise, I hate to hear…” Moriarty paused for a moment, noticing no matter where he stepped, John would turn his normally understanding blue eyes away. Narrowing his own eyes and holding back his aggravation, he leant in and took John’s chin, forcing him to look in his own direction. He let out a small sigh and then smiled to the other man. “Is silence.”

 “Yes yes, alright, get off.” The man with the wooly jumper swatted Jim’s hands away, taking a step back. “Thanks for the mysterious words of… I wouldn’t even call them words of wisdom, just rambling nonsense really.” He sucked in a breath and nodded a little, looking round to him at last. “But what did you want to talk about?”

 Moriarty tilted his head gently at the other man, taking a few leisurely slow steps forward and then tilting his head at John. “I would like to take you out for dinner, John Watson.”

 John raised an eyebrow and looked round to him slowly. He took a few moments to look over Jim and then look back to that smirk he wore so proudly. He looked like he genuinely meant it. Genuinely wanted to take him out for a meal… However, there was something that crossed his mind.  “You mean… Like a date?”

 Jim chuckled, smiling charmingly to him and then patting his back softly. “Well of course Johnny jimbo Jo-.” 

“No.” John answered without hesitation, shaking his head and turning away to continue his walk home again.

 For a few moments the other man was left alone in silence. The silence that he hated oh so much. It appeared the rejection had taken Moriarty by perplexed surprise. He stood there, hands in pockets as he stared at the place Watson had once stood… Before he tutted and looked back round to where John was heading once again.

 “Oh… OH ho! I see, oh that’s adorable John. Complete and utter denial, hard to get, ey? How sweet.” Jim went jumping after him, almost skipping beside him as John began marching home. John’s peace and quiet morning was short lived-so it seemed.

 “Not Denial, just not interested.” He shook his head again, not bothering to look back to the other man as he was approached once again.

 “Of course you are! John, look at me, I’m the most powerful man in town. Why _wouldn’t_ you want to be with me?”

 “Hmm, maybe because, uh, _I’m not gay?_ ”

 “Oh yes you are.”

 John stopped in his tracks this time and sighed, turning to face the other man. “No. Actually, I’m not.” He pinched at the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, grunting a little. “Look, I’m not interested Jim. Why don’t you… go and find someone else to bother today. I mean, honestly, you don’t know my sexuality, so I don’t think you can tell me whether I’m gay or not.”

 “Oh but you are interested, Johnny boy. Most definitely gay… There are plenty of signs determining your sexuality, I don’t need you to admit it to me.”

 John looked back to the other man, now coming face to face with him.                                                                    However, the once smiling Jim Moriarty now looked a little more… stern. Sinister, almost. He stared down at the other man and loomed over him, his eyes a little bit more narrow now. John’s eagerness to kick Moriarty in the balls began to shrink away and he felt his stomach twist. The look was like nothing he’d really witnessed before…

 “I think you’re missing the big picture here, little John _Watson_. In this town, everyone and I-hi mean _everyone,_ listens to me… And that includes, you.” Moriarty sneered down at John and took a step closer, at which John took a step back from. “I own this town, Johnny boy, I am their little king. And I am just one teensy tinsy step away from owning every part of it. I could own you, Watson. You could rule beside me, and then honey you will see the crown that sits on my head and you will never _live_ the way you did before. No looking back.” A quick smirk washed over his now dastardly looking face and he gently poked John’s nose. “You don’t have to love me… I own you already… I just need to collect you now as my prize. Just wait John; you won’t have a choice in the matter. I’ve branded my initials into your heart, and I could either treat you like a slave… or like a lover. It is up to you. But either way, you will be mi-”

 “Are you having fun there?” interrupted John, tilting his head slightly with a now unfazed raised eyebrow up his face. “I mean, really… That was some beautiful crap load of bullshit there, but… I must be off. You know, got to get ready for you to come and collect your prize and what not. Maybe I’ll make some tea for us, yeah? I’m pretty sure I have some biscuits lying around too…” John looked at him as if he meant it. As if he was being sincere. But he cut it off and scoffed as he turned away, shaking his head and walking back to his home, leaving Jim standing there with swears and curses burning on his spiked tongue. _What a prick._ John thought to himself as he headed back into his small cottage.

 Moriarty watched him go, his eyes burning on the sight of the other man being so cocky. Not caring about anything he had just said. He was _Jim Moriarty._ Everything he said mattered. Everything he said was listened to. And _everything_ he said was how things would go… It angered him to not be taken so seriously. The man who he was going to take, the man that was _unquestionably_ his, was not interested in him… at all…  _Oh, things are going to change around here…_ Moriarty turned away and began to stroll slowly, a cold look burning into his face, his eyes steely and making him look almost as if he was about to pounce on someone and feast into their flesh. He would not allow such a simple man, so often referred to as a ‘good man’, push him away. This was not the end. John Watson would be his, no matter what it took… 

“Treated like a slave it is then, _Johnny boy_ …” 


	3. Chapter 2: Siblings

**C.H.A.P.T.E.R.T.W.O. –Siblings**

 “I mean, who does he _really_ think he is? It’s like he thinks he’s… the leader out of the next apocalypse or something. I don’t know, he’s just so… I don’t have any words for it. You should’ve heard him though. ‘I own you already… I just need to collect you now as my prize.’ It was just plain out creepy, Harry.” John plonked himself down in his large wooden chair, reaching over and sipping at his cup of tea as he ranted out his earlier recollection with the infamous Jim Moriarty. “I mean really. You tell someone that you’re not gay, and they just don’t believe you.”

 “Oh… but… there wouldn’t be anything wrong with you being gay, John.” His sister, Harriet, responded down her mobile phone comfortingly. “I think it’d be cute actually. I mean, you’d make an adorable gay guy, and practically everyone thinks you’re gay anyway.”

 “No. Harry, hngh, no. Shut up.” John clenched up his fist and wanted to actually bash his head in with this day he was having.  “When I called you up, I didn’t want you to _support_ the maniac!”

 “I’m not supporting this guy… but… Are you sure you’re not g-”

 “ _Yes._ I’m _bloody_ well sure I’m _not_ gay _.”_

 “Okay okay.” Harry giggled the slightest at his reaction, and John rubbed at his eyes roughly when he heard it. “Well, alright. I’m sorry John. Can’t you just… tell the police or something?”

 “The whole town loves this guy. I don’t think any of them will believe me and will probably support him more than me…” John sighed softly. He did remember thinking this morning how nice it would have a bit of danger and a thrill in his life. How it would be good to have a bit of change… But by that he _definitely_ didn’t mean that he wanted a gay sexual predator in his life.

 “Well, I don’t know what to sug-” Harry stopped talking for a moment down her phone and John sighed nodding gently.

 “Yes yes, I know you don’t know what to suggest to me. I’m just venting, alri-”

 “Oh Fuck. What the hell…” Harry’s voice turned into more of a harsh whisper. John sat up in his chair a little more and raised an eyebrow.

 “What do you mean, what the hell? Venting, I’m jut letting out my anger.”

 “Oh fuck John. Seriously fucking bloody hell! I’m not talking about you.” She now seemed to keep her voice very low, and John immediately tensed up as he realized she wasn’t just cursing his negative and nagging behavior. She sounded utterly terrified, her breathing increasing in speed, loudly announcing each shuddering suck in of air.

 “Harry? What’s going on? Where are you?”

 “I’m out by that old castle we were talking about. I wanted to see if it was a good setting to take someone for Halloween or something… but…. Oh God, John, it’s… I-It’s a _monster._ ” John’s eyebrows knitted together, and for just a moment, he stared at the wall on the opposite side of the room. Before he chuckled bitterly.

 “Yeah, very funny Harry. Oo-o-o-oh I’m shaking. _Scary monster’s_ coming to _eat_ you!”

 “Oh God, this thing’s going to come and eat me John, isn’t it?!” John rolled his eyes a little and slapped his palm to his face. She wasn’t meant to take that so seriously.

 “Harry for goodness sake-”

 “John, call the police, call for help, I don’t care if you call bloody _childline_ just send someo-”

 There was a deafening cracking and clashing noise that rattled down John’s phone and bounced against his eardrum. Instantaneously he dropped it to the floor, rubbing at his ear vigorously. _What was that about?_ He thought to himself, peering over his knees to the phone. Well, it had stopped making that terrible racket now… He picked up his phone and put it to his ear, all he could hear was the dial tone. “That’s… odd.” He hung up that call and then pressed speed-dial one. There was a moment’s silence, and then a machine answered for him. “The number you have called either no longer exists or has been changed. To find out more please go to-” John shook his head, hanging up on that call and sitting there for a moment. This wasn’t a joke… Something or someone had taken his big sister…

 After a moment of staring in silent disbelief, John leaped to his feet and grabbed his coat, dashing out of the door and heading straight for the old castle down by Baker Street. He had heard her natter on about it to him before, and he had dismissed the idea of a hideous beast living in that castle as an old bedtime story to scare little children. And his alcoholic half-witted sister. The possibilities of what had actually happened to Harry was running through his mind at this moment. His sister was an alcoholic, the whole town knew that. She was the laughable drunkard, known for her funny stories and her crazy little ‘adventures’.

 No one would ever believe a single tale she told, thinking she had imagined every little one, and each was a fantasy. And even John was guilty of that. He believed some of her stories, but only some. It occurred to John that perhaps she had drunk a few too many before she went out today, and perhaps all she had seen was a dog, dropped her phone and then stepped on it, effectively breaking it and destroying the number… But still, even if that was the case, there was a possibility that she would need him to help her get home.

 John pressed on, heading deeper into the woods and finding that he was distancing himself further and further away from the little town. It might have just been him, but it seemed like it was actually getting darker as he got further into the leafless trees. As if the sun didn’t shine over this area. It was far from the magic kingdom around here, and John did feel the hairs on the back of his neck begin to prick up, one by one.

 But then, he came to it. Big castle, vaguely resembling haunted houses you would walk around at a theme park. Particularly similar to the one in the local fair that came to the town when the Watson’s were kids –John recalled. Harry got lost then too. However, this one wasn’t cheap and crappy with its scare factor. It was dark and incredibly tall, looming over the rest of the land. Empty window frames, broken wooden slabs against the walls, bullet holes dotted all over, bullets strayed in the shrubs… And then, even the crows came along to add to this now suddenly eerie atmosphere. The only thing that would top it off is if lightning struck against the satellite dish sat upon the roof.

  _Right. Of course._ He couldn’t help thinking that he was walking right into a stereotypical horror movie. Some Psycho was probably inside, whilst his sister was strung up and gutted open… On the plus side, his sister had walked into a stereotype first, so it wasn’t like he was being the first idiot to walk into a cliché.

 With a roll of his shoulders and a large breath in through his nose, he walked up to the front door, gently easing it open. The small sound of the doorknob twisting reverberated around the whole castle, creating a far larger sound than the man was expecting. He inwardly flinched, biting at his bottom lip and then poking in. The door slid open a little bit more, just enough for John to fit through.

 “… _Hello_?”

 There was nothing but the echo of his voice and then silence to greet him in return. A hollow chill flowed through John at that point. Some sort of instinct tuned in that told him he had already gotten knee-deep in the shit of this place. Whilst his sister was more than likely shoulder-deep in the shit. Yet again, John would need to help his sister out of a situation that had completely thrown her off-guard. _Bloody brilliant._

“Uhm, just searching the area, but… if anyone is here… I just… Have you seen a woman named Harriet? Blonde hair, uhm… Blue eyes… A distinct smell of piss in her breath…” It felt hopeless to John. Like he was yelling into empty space. However, he wanted to make sure that it was just him yelling to empty space. If his sister was passed out somewhere around here, or… in some worse situation likelihood is that she wouldn’t be able to respond.

 He began making his way down the halls, staying very much aware of everything. He took in the whole structure of the hall, how it was laid out, the architecture and the artwork strewn around it. There were a few doodles drawn on the walls too. A smiley face drawn in bright yellow paint. It looked like a wreck in there… but… John couldn’t help the sick fascination he had of the place. A place shrouded by torn pieces of paper and assorted objects –including a dry beehive. “Who has a _dry beehive_?”

 Too busy taking in his surroundings, John failed to notice that some of the supposedly still and lifeless objects were a bit more animated than the rest. You see, John’s instincts of the castle being eerie and dissimilar were quite true… The similarities to a horror movie however? …Maybe not.

 There was a small shift on one of the shelves, slight clanking of a lid against crockery. It wiggled its way out of it’s crook, coming to an opening. It watched the man who had wandered into the castle in search of his sister. “Oh… The poor dear. Must know the girl that he brought in earlier.” Said the teapot.

Yes. Teapot.  
 _Tea. Pot.  
_ Stay with me on this.

 The china pot bounced down silently from its perch and kept her eyes firmly on the blonde wandering around. “He looks so scared.”

 “Well if he’s so scared, he should bloody well forget about here, and the girl, and just leave.” The teapot looked away from the man, just in time to see the small clock climb down the wall and join her side. It folded its handles together like a pair of arms, shaking his head gently. “He’s not going to be happy about this. This guy just wandered in –no trouble at all.”

 “Ah. But that’s another problem in itself, Greg.” There was a shuffling by the door, the coat rack being pushed about to and fro before a black umbrella fell out of place, snapping open and floating towards the other two. “My brother is never what you would call~ ‘Happy’”

 “…Well… Even more ‘not-what-I-would-call-happy’ than usual.”

 “You mean, ‘Less happy’.”

 “Yes Mycroft, _yes_.  Less Happy. Unhappy. He’s not ‘ _dapper’_. Whatever-However you want to say it, you’re kind of missing the picture here-” The clock gestured back to John who at that moment knocked a pile of papers on the floor, taking a large jump back and huffing a little. With a few mumbles here and there, he reached down and began gathering them up.

 “Boys… What if…” The teapot started, trailing off a little as she watched the bumbling man. He had a look about him. It was a look of seeking something. Something other than his sister that is. It was in his face. Something about him just seemed… Pissed off. Fed up. Something in his life –it wanted to be changed. “What if we were wrong?”

 The attention turned towards the quaint little teapot, a soft (and somewhat mischievous) smile growing on her face. “Care to elaborate Mrs. Hudson?”

 “Well… Your brother didn’t seem all that interested in the girl… Not really…What if… Well… what if he’s…”

 “What if he’s _gay?!_ ”

 Almost comically, their three faces turned and stared at the man heading up the staircase with a look of sudden realization. There was a particularly devilish look coming from the umbrella. Well… as devilish as an umbrella can look. Almost instantly, he scurried towards John, excited to get to meet the man.

 “ _Mycroft_! Get back here! How do you think he’s going to react to a talking umbre-”

 “Excuse me dear fellow. Yes, Yoo-hoo!”

 Too late to stop him now. John had already been approached by the brolly. John turned quickly, his sleeve brushing against the banister of the staircase. He gazed around the empty room, having heard the voice incredibly close by, but not seeing a face to accompany it. One eyebrow cocked up and he slowly turned his whole body round to take a good look at the place.

 “…Hello?”

 “Look down, sir.”

 John did so.

And then he wished he didn’t.

 “…An… Umbrella. That’s an. Umbrella. With… a face… and… a mouth.”

 “Quite so.”

 John jumped back a bit when he watched it actually speak. “You just talked. Okay. You’re a talking umbrella. Okay. This isn’t real. There must be a drug in the air… Some sort of hallucinogen.” He rubbed firmly at his temples, unable to pull his eyes away from the umbrella staring up at him with a smug smile. “Come on John, take it easy.”

 “Actually, _John,_ you’re not quite any use to us if you are drugged, are you?”

 John shook his head slowly, still in disbelief of course. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that statement.

 “Mycroft, that’s not a very nice way to word it. The poor dear is probably terrified.”

 John looked around to see the other two objects approaching. “Okay. This is… This is too weird. Objects… Objects sit still. Not move around and _definitely_ not talk!”

 “I told you that you should’ve left him alone. You just… You don’t listen.” The clock huffed and flickered his nose a little. “You. Are. An. _Umbrella_. People react to you even worse now than when they did while you were human.”

 “Oh, I’m not too sure about that Lestrade.” The umbrella responded, bouncing towards him and then leaning against a wall.

 The clock hesitated before smiling. “You’re right. You were even less sociable as a human being. This is much better. At least you have a sort of purpose as an umbrella.”

 John sighed softly and ran a hand through his hair. “…I need to find Harry… and stop talking to objects…”

 “Harry…? Harry Watson?”

 John turned towards the three, raised eyebrow. “…Yes… But how did you-”

 “The owner of 221B, and my brother, brought in a woman earlier today. She was a young blonde, screaming that she just wanted one last bottle or something. She kept on screaming she was Harriet Watson and did not stand for something or another. Had a pathetic little flail as she was carried.”

 “That’s her!”

 “Well, I’m afraid that you won’t be seeing her again anytime soon, _mate_.” The clock sounded somewhat bitter in his words, causing a bit of irritation to hit John.

 “Excuse me? I don’t think a bloody clock has any right in what I will and won’t be doing.”

 “I’m not a bloody clock. I’m human. I used to be a security guard here. In fact, none of us are originally the objects we are now.”

 “Indeed.” The umbrella joined in, smirking to John. “I am Mycroft Holmes. I hold a form of responsibility over my brother, the exact man to abduct your sister.”

 “And I am Mrs. Hudson, dear. I’m the land lady-”

 “Take me to my sister. Now.” John shook his arms out and then narrowed his eyes. “I have dealt with enough shit today, and I am trying so desperately to hold onto my sanity. I have gone through men saying that they want to own me. I’ve dealt with my sister screaming in my ear that she thinks she’s going to be eaten, and now I’ve dealt with the ‘household-trio’ trying to introduce themselves to me when they are a _clock_ , a _teapot_ and an _umbrella_! Now, if you have any sense of when a man is on edge, you’ll let me get my sister and go. _Now.”_

 There was a speechless response. Of course, the quiet hero searching for his sister was being snappy and slightly spiteful. It was a little unexpected of a man with a humble look that he possessed. However, after a moment or two, they finally shifted. Mycroft turned and made his way towards a staircase, leading lower into the building. “Follow me, Mr. Watson.”

 The objects lead John down lower and lower into the castle, the atmosphere somehow getting even darker. He was well aware that he could trip up any second. What with it becoming more difficult to see where he was actually going the lower he went. “Blimey, how can you even see down here?”

 There seemed to be no true response to this, just a few mumbles here and there. Before he knew it, he had run out of steps to walk down, bringing the man to a complete standstill. He squinted slightly, trying to make out a shape in the corner, crumpled up and looking somewhat shaky. “Hang on a second, dear.” Came the teapot’s voice from a perch as somehow, she lit a candle. How she lit the candle was another question completely. One of which I will choose not to answer by cutting off this senten-

 “ _John_!”

 John’s face lit up as he both saw and heard his sister sitting there, wide-awake and safe. He was immediately at her side, arms around her and comforting the trembling mess he called ‘sister’. Or ‘drunken idiot’. Either one of those.

 “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

 “No. I’m fine… I’m sober- but fine.”

 John couldn’t help but notice the negative way she felt about actually being aware of her surroundings. He got back to his feet and pulled her up slowly. “Yeah, alright. You can have a drink when we get back to mine. For now, we need to go. Why did they bring you down here anyway?”

 Harry shrugged gently, turning her gaze down to her feet. “I may or may not have kicked him in the gonads… and stepped on his tail…”

 “Stepped on his ta-” He cut himself off, his lips sliding inwards as he bit his tongue and shook his head. “I’ve been talking to household objects for the past five minutes, I don’t care anymore. Let’s just go.”

 “Right. Thanks John.” Harry gave her brother a sheepish smile, at which John could only vaguely smile back at. John would help his sister if and when she needed it. But it was really getting tiring, constantly having to be around for her. He wanted to see her grow as a person, move on from sleeping around and drinking, getting into danger at every turn. But sadly, it just wasn’t happening.

 “Don’t thank him just yet…”

 The siblings raised an eyebrow each at the clock’s words. All three of the objects were now stood on the perch, stood out of the way and in an emptier spot. John was about to question what it meant by his words, before he heard a low hollow growling ripping through the cooling silent air. 

 “…He’s there.” Harry raised a trembling hand, taking a small step back into the corner, ultimately blocking her off from a true escape. John turned to the direction she was pointing, only to be greeted by a flying blur of fur coming straight towards him. He could’ve had an opportunity to dodge it had he seen it coming sooner, but the movement was far too swift.

**_WHACK!_**

Down to the floor the two of them fell in one large bundle, forcing John to go a little starry eyed for a minute. He grunted, trying to kick …whatever it was climbing on him, off. Desperately trying to break free, but then being pinned down by the things humongous paws. John slowly came back to and found himself face to face with a creature completely covered in fur. Impossibly strong for something as flimsy looking as he was, but all the same holding him down without too much effort. He’d look like an everyday hound, had it not been for the pieces of clothing he wore; blue scarf, long black open-hanging coat and black trousers. He had spiked teeth hanging from his mouth and a narrow face. It truly was a villainous creature that would come from a fairytale of some sort…

 …However.

 John was caught staring into one feature of this thing that seemed to spark a form of pure wonderment. An element that brought the creature down a few notches to become slightly less of the fearsome beast it appeared to be.

_Its eyes_.

He couldn’t quite describe how they looked. Narrow and determined, with elements of softness and beauty. Colors entwining with one another to form fireworks of glistening sparks around his pupils. He fell still, staring into them for a while. They just seemed so… real. So _human_. Blinking a couple of times and then shaking his head, he came back to reality.

 “Get off.” He ordered, trying to lift his arms again, only to have them knocked down once more.

 “How did you get in here? Who are you?” The creature questioned, eyes narrowing into daggers.

 “None of your business. I’m here to get her out of here.”

 The creature fell silent for a minute before tilting his head. “You’re her brother.”

 John narrowed his eyes at the creature and struggled again. “You’ve been listening in on both of us, haven’t you?”

 “No. I was just looking at the _obvious_ signs that she could not be anything other than-”

 He was cut off by a kick to the hip as Harriet came away from her quivering corner to come and help John in any way she could. “Stop straddling my brother! He’s gay enough as it is!”

 “Thank you Harry…” John was pulled back to his feet and almost instantly felt the pain fall back on his skull. He rubbed at the back of his head sorely and then looked back to the creature standing opposite them. He stood rather tall and bold, unfazed by the blow to his side. He kept his distance, but kept one paw in front of his body, showing he was unafraid to attack if they tried to go.

 “Your sister is not leaving here. I must have one person living in this abode with me.”

 “Why?”

 “That is not any of your business or interest.”

 “I think it bloody well is actually, _mate_.” John pulled Harry behind him, putting himself between the creature and his sister. “You’re not keeping Harry in a bloody cellar for the rest of her life.”

 “Not in the cellar. Simply in the castle.”

 “And that’s better, _how_? You’re going to keep her prisoner!”

 “If it wasn’t her, it would’ve been some other imbecile who would casually be wandering in the woods, it’s her own fault for being out there without a form of defense. Do you really think she was being _wise_ by doing that? If it isn’t going to be her, it will be someone else. Who it is, I don’t really care too much.”

 John felt Harry’s hand grasp his and squeezed it softly in comfort. Her delicate fingers, normally so feisty and strong reduced to trembling shivers. He stared down the face of the beast for a few moments, before turning his eyes away. He didn’t see much of a choice in this situation. He couldn’t leave his sister here, but he also couldn’t just walk out of here with her. If they tried, he was sure that the beast would tear the two of them to shreds. He turned to his sister, gently kissing her on the forehead and then letting her hand go.

 “Then I’m staying here in her place.”

 Harriet blinked, and then shook her head. “No, John. N-no. That is _not_ fucking happening.”

 “You… would stay here willingly?” John turned towards the man-covered head to toe in fur- and gave him a short nod.

 “Yes. I would.”

 “No he wouldn’t!”

 “Harry, go to Moriarty’s and get that drink you wanted.”

 John didn’t look back at his sister. He kept his eyes firmly on the figure in front of him, still as a statue and never portraying fear in his gentle movements. It was the bravery of Watson that the town had always spoke about, saying how strange it was that such a simple man in such a safe town was always so aware of certain elements around him. Never portraying any weakness to others when he was needed. Now his actions and practice was proving to be not so foolish.

 “…John- I can’t-”

 “You heard him Miss Watson.” The other spoke, stepping towards the girl. “It is decided. You may now go to have that beer that you smell so similar to. It’s all over your clothing and it’s an own brand of this ‘Moriarty’s’, is it not? It certainly isn’t the stench of any popular alcoholic beverage.”

 John stared at the man as the other turned his gaze back to him in return. Well, at least he had agreed to go along with it. However, the question was more along the lines of why he needed someone else living in this castle with him?“…John, I-”

 “Harry, fucking _go_ already.”

 Silence for another laborious minute. It wasn’t until the creature started growling gently that he actually heard any movement from her direction.

 “…Thanks little brother.”

 He felt his chest go a little bit hollow as she finally left. There was the sound of the door creaking loudly again, and then that was it. She was gone. And he was stuck in the mad castle, where objects spoke and a giant wolf-man wandered around wearing scarves. _Where a fashionable giant wolf-man wandered around_. He crumpled slightly just then, feeling a little bit faint at the notion.

 “Your room is on the second floor. I’m sure that since Mrs. Hudson was so keen on letting you in, she won’t mind terribly for leading you upstairs too.”

 John clutched his fists together and narrowed his eyes a little towards the other, lowering his head. “ _Thanks_.”

 The other tilted his head softly. “As much as you probably will not believe me, this accommodation will suit your needs. As long as you are willing to work with me and actually accept the situation you are in then-”

 “No. Just… Stop. Please, just stop…”

 The black fur of the other ruffled softly as he took a step closer to listen more.

 “I really… _really_ can’t take anymore today. I am in no mood to be sweet-talked by a walking talking fur ball.”

 There was a huff, which John actually felt push against his body, before the creature turned towards the stairs and began walking up them grumpily. “Fine. Just fine. _Thank you_ mister Watson for coming to stay in 221B with me. Now piss off to your room and sulk like a teenage girl. If that is how you intend on living here for good, then I do sincerely believe that this arrangement shan’t be working out for very long at all.”

 “Thank God for that then! Because believe it or not, this arrangement isn’t exactly ideal for me either!”

 There was a loud slam, as the creature sodded off to God knows where… John didn’t really care. He was out of his sight, for now.

He fumed silently to himself for a few moments, before he let out a shaky breath, feeling his knees knock out from beneath him. His strong stance flaked out and he melted into a slumped, confused mess. John Watson –no longer the man living in the little town with his jam. Now the new inhabitant of the nutty castle on Baker Street. He wondered how long it would be until he turned into either cat-man or a spoon.

 “So…Uh, I’ll show you to your room then dear?” asked the teapot, coming to stand beside him.

 John looked down at it. He had a long lingering stare that stuck to the teapot for quite a while. _Stuck here for the rest of my life_ … John nodded softly and rubbed at his temples.

“A cup of tea would be nice too actually, Mrs. Hudson.”  


	4. Chapter 3: Dinner and Drink

**C.H.A.P.T.E.R.T.H.R.E.E. –Dinner and drink**

 The flame blazed and licked at the air within the fireplace harshly. The soft cracking of wood splintering was the only sound to fill the room. It was the only sound that he would put up with right now, quite honestly.

 He sat within his large chair, claws clinking against each other as he pondered things over. A stern and somewhat angered expression sat on his face. What was he thinking? Allowing this man to take the place of Harriet Watson? He seemed far more strong and stubborn. It would be all that much harder to try and get him to help with the breaking of this curse…

 This _bloody_ curse… He wouldn’t be able to break it anyway. Thought to be asexual by most, and keeping his solitude in mind at all time; it was hard to picture him with a full time companion. He may as well stay as he is, allow that bloody thing to break, preserve this new form and live forever in the pits of the castle. Forever feared…

 …But… He just couldn’t.

 He couldn’t do that.

 Not to those who were also cursed alongside him.

 This curse seemed to inflict absolutely everyone in the premises. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, even Mycroft. He even felt a little bad about. _Only a little… Miniscule amount…_ He preferred it so much more when they stayed out of each other’s business…

 He huffed again, kicking another scrap of wood into the fire and then curling up in the chair, burying his face into his knees. ‘ _Caring… It’s such a useless and pathetic notion…’_

* * *

 

 “…I tell you something dear, he never lets anyone be in here the first time he meets them. _Anyone._ I think that he may have a few shining hopes for you. Honestly. I mean, last time he let someone in here; they were big with the power. I can’t quite remember the name, it went way over my head when they stayed, talking about past psychopathic chain murders or something horrendous like that. Oh ho, it is rather horrific!… But for him, oh he really did shine in his eyes. It was nice to see someone that he admired actually…”

 John sank down into the bed as he listened to Mrs. Hudson talk on, whilst also preparing his tea. He flicked his thumbs together and just stared at a speck on the wall for a little while. None of her words were really sticking in his mind. It was waffling nonsense. Nothing really sparked his interest in the conversation. Well, aside from the blatant averting of her actually mentioning what ‘his’ name was. ‘Mycroft’s brother’, ‘the inhabitant of 221B’, ‘him’, ‘the dear’, oh he was called all of that. But what was his actual name? He was sure if he asked, he wouldn’t get a clear answer. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d get a clear answer to anything right now. He was hated by ‘the owner’ and honestly felt like an abnormal person within the castle. Strange, how someone who would usually be so normal and average can stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this…

 “God…”

 Mrs. Hudson paused in her words, looking round towards John as he uttered the word in disbelief. His head was now in his hands and he truly did look like the definition of self-pity. Blinking repeatedly and sucking in breath after breath. Holding back that of which he had done well to keep hold of in the past. The teapot bit her lip, pouring the tea into the cup and then urging the little cup to go towards John. Which it did so.

 “I’m sorry John.” She apologized quietly, bouncing a few paces closer and making the steam rising from her nozzle become slightly cooler. “It’s a funny old situation you’ve got yourself into, isn’t it?”

 He scoffed bitterly in return. “Funny is one thing to call it.” John took the cup between his hands and took in a long large breath through his nose, sitting up straight and strong to clear away his moment of weakness. He cleared his throat and then shook his head a little.

 “It’s alright dear. If you want to let it out in some way -I don’t mind. There’s been enough anger and tears around this place -I’m sure a little more wouldn’t make that much difference.”

 John looked to the teapot and gave her a soft smile. He shook his head softly, taking a sip of the tea. “No, I’m fine. It’s just… Well… Like you said, this is a funny situation. I don’t quite know how to take it at the moment.”

 “True enough.” She tittered a little, before sitting back and sighing. “It could be stranger though. It’s rather strange taking in the news that you’ve been turned into a teapot really. One moment being a housekeeper, the next being the teapot which everyone has tea from. I don’t think many other people can say that they’ve experienced something like that.”

 “You’re probably the only one that can say they’ve experienced that actually, Mrs. Hudson.”

 “Oh. I suppose you’re right.”

 They both had a small chuckle –which was kind of refreshing, given the circumstances. John placed the cup down again, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at the teapot.

 “Is there a coffee strainer around here called Mr. Hudson, by any chance?”

 “Ah, not anymore.” Mrs. Hudson responded quietly, shaking her head softly. “He was turned into a coffee strainer funnily enough. But Mycroft’s brother sold him on eBay.”

 John’s eyes widened and he gulped softly. “Oh my… I’m so sorry Mrs. Hudson, I can’t believe he would do tha-”

 “Oh, it was by request actually John.” The teapot smiled a little and then giggled at John’s confusion. “We were getting a divorce, and I just didn’t want to see him anymore. At all. He wasn’t a very nice man. Not at all.”

 There was a somewhat speechless response to that. John didn’t quite know what to think of a teapot that wanted her ex-husband sold on the Internet, but he didn’t need to in the end. For his stomach responded for him. He reached down and grasped at it, only just noticing now that he hadn’t eaten all day. He must have been busy feeding off the drama happening around him to actually feel the pangs of real hunger in his stomach.

 “You’re hungry.” Mrs. Hudson pointed out.

 “Yes… Thank you. I wouldn’t have worked that out on my own.” John smirked to the pot and then rubbed at his stomach gently. He could really use a hot meal right about now. Something filling and warm. Fish and Chips maybe. He highly doubted that any food would be coming his way right now however. He was here willingly, yes. But he didn’t exactly feel like these characters were all that hospitable. He wasn’t on particularly good terms with anyone in this place.

 “Well then, come along dear.” Mrs. Hudson called, bouncing towards the door rather merrily. “Can’t let you starve now, can we? I’m sure Angelo would help to make something up for you. He’s quick with food. _Very_ quick.”

 …Well… Perhaps he was on good terms with one then… A light smile crossed his lips before he followed along after the teapot, tugging his jumper down slightly. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t want to make a disturbance down in the big bad wolf’s fur.”

 “Nonsense. It’ll be fine John. Just keep it between us though, yes?”

 Although John agreed that this might have been for the best, it would seem that this wouldn’t happen for the two. Simply making their way downstairs was busted and interrupted by an abrupt ‘OI!’ The man flinched slightly, being caught off guard by the intrusion. Even if it was only the clock, coming along to begin ranting his little face off, he couldn’t help but be on edge for anything happening around him at the moment.

 “Where are you taking him? He’s not due a tour of the castle. He’s meant to stay in that room, unless Mycroft’s brother says otherwise.” The clock’s little nose (the screw holding the clock’s handles in) squinted and wiggled in annoyance as he folded his arms together. “How do you think he’s going to react to seeing this guy just wandering around here?”

 “Greg, he’s just a bit hungry. All we’re doing is getting some food. Surely he’s allowed that.”

 “We could have taken it to his room.”

 Both Mrs. Hudson and John let out a small huff. John had to take a step back again and run a hand down his face. He was still getting used to the fact that these objects were actual people, and not his sanity slowly declining into non-existence.

 “Greg, come along dear, we won’t be long. Angelo could just make a quick snack, and then we’ll be gone.”

 “Angelo’s busy with Mycroft’s brother.”

 “Oh. Well, Angelo always seems eager to cook for all, so it’s not a problem for him. Is it that you don’t want John to eat tonight, after he did something so selfless for his sister?”

 “Maybe! Yes.”

 “How can you say such a thing? Can you even hear yourself?”

 John watched the surreal argument happening before him before a door at the far end of the corridor opened and closed, the umbrella (which had earlier been named Mycroft –John recalled) appeared and looked round to him with a raised nose. He scrutinized John for a good long time. Before an almost sly smile cracked into his mouth.

 “Now… That’s not the right spirit, Lestrade.”

 The other two looked round to Mycroft, each sharing a different look. One of appreciation, one of bewilderment. Guess which had which! (It should be pretty obvious)

 “Oh come on, not you as well.”

 “Come along Greg, dear John Watson is here to stay. We should treat him with proper respect.”

 A suspicious eyebrow was raised at the umbrella as John stood up straight and then flicked his fingers out individually.  He didn’t quite know how he felt about it … Something felt… weird, about this umbrella. _Yes. I am getting suspicious of an umbrella…_ As ridiculous as it was, he just felt… under surveillance with him…? Well, he felt that about all three of them. Though Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade were a bit more blunt about it. It was almost secretive when Mycroft did it. He wanted to speak up about possibly just grabbing a pack of biscuits and heading back to his room, but yet again, his stomach made it there first. A loud rumble rupturing from his gut, causing him to flinch and clench at it tightly.

 “I’ve got to admit… All I can think about right now is getting to some sort of kitchen.” John spoke up, raising a finger in the air. “I’ll make it myself, I don’t mind.”

 “Oh, pish posh!” Mycroft began bouncing down the stairs –ahead of the rest. “Angelo will make a _more than_ _Adequate_ meal and feed that hunger of yours.”

 The other two objects seemed to follow along not long after that, Mycroft seeming to be the leader of this little troop. “I tell you though, he’s not going to be happy.”

 “Yes dear, we heard you the first time. We’ll deal with it when we come to it.”

 John had a quick glance towards the door that Mycroft had just left, biting gently at his lip before turning away and following on after the rest. “Full of secrets…” He murmured gently to himself, shaking his head and sighing quietly.

* * *

 

The music was thumping out of its speakers, the dance floor bumping about as people danced without a single care in the world. Flickering colors of the rainbow all around, being illuminated by the lights way up in the ceiling. People, varying in age, sexuality, ethnicity and more were all laughing and playing about, drinking themselves away into external bliss.

 A slightly weedy man picked up a cocktail and one pint of lager, walking around the dance floor silently –carefully avoiding anyone else as to not spill any of it. He stepped towards a table that had a bit more light shining on it and was easier to see in the darkness of the overpopulated nightclub. Moriarty sat there, dragging a long finger along the edge of the table and huffing gently. The man placed the cocktail in front of him, taking a sip of his pint whilst sitting down next to him.

 “Moriarty… You know you could have anyone in this town with a flick of your finger, don’t you?”

 “Well, obviously, I can’t Sebby, can I?” Jim mumbled bitterly, eyebrows arching inwards as he threw a bit of a diva tantrum. “Doctor Watson obviously won’t do as I say and it’s just so… so _irritating_! I mean, it’s almost as if he doesn’t adore me. How can he not adore me?! Look at me! I own the number one spot in town and I have all the power under my fingertips! I should be Mr Sex! Intercourse Ghandi! The _Dhali Bummer_!”

 Sebastian nudged Moriarty’s drink towards him, resting his head on his palm and shaking his head in slight amusement. “Just drink your cocktail…”

The man narrowed his eyes, leaning forwards and angrily sipping at his fruity –bright pink - drink.

 For a little while, the two didn’t turn to each other. Didn’t speak a word, nor throw each other a quick glance. They just observed the dancers in front of them, smiling, having fun. They were quite oblivious that they were giddily doing what Moriarty wanted them to do. Become intoxicated and just let loose. They were easy to manipulate and control whilst they were drinking gallons of Moriarty’s own beer. Why should they be suspicious of a few drinks and a little shaking of the booty? Well… Those were the kinds of aspects that John had gotten suspicious of before. He _was_ different. But he was still pretty normal. Most people were normal. And Jim Moriarty could have such fun with that…

 “…You forgot my little umbrella.”

 Sebastian flicked a glance at Moriarty’s drink. He blinked a couple of times and then sighed softly. “Sorry…”

 “Oh no. It’s fine. Just fine. I mean, all it is really, is a small part of my little life. It could easily be dismissed and turned away…” Moriarty leaned forwards on the table, turning his gaze towards the man beside him. His right hand man and little helper, Sebastian Moran. He could usually count on the man to go to the end of the world and back for him. He was intelligent, talented and athletic. He never forgot a single detail about Moriarty or his tastes. So, forgetting Moriarty’s little cocktail umbrella did make the man suspicious. “What is it, Moran?” He asked, taking another sip from his drink –the pineapples really striking through now.

 He sighed.

 “Nothing.”

 “Bull.”

 “No really. It’s nothing.”

 “ _Sebastian._ ”

 Moran tapped his fingers on the table a couple of times, rubbing his cheek and then turning to Jim. “…Everyone in this town adores you. Most would faint at the mere idea of you inviting them out to dinner and a date. You could have any woman, any _man_ , you ever even thought about in that way within a heartbeat. So… Why are you wasting your time with Watson?”

 There was a hint of a laugh coming from the back of Moriarty’s throat, before he choked on it and just shook his head and tapped at his chin. “Why shouldn’t I? John Watson is an intelligent, brave, and a bizarre icon of the town. Two icons like us are meant to be with one another.”

 “Yes. Of course you are.” The man sounded somewhat bitter in his words, taking a long hard swallow of his lager.

 “Plus, he’s a fine piece of arse.”

 “Oh, _sure.”_ Moriarty grimaced, lightly punching the other in the shoulder and shaking his head.

 “I’m really getting sick of this new attitude of yours. Really… Don’t you think you need to… _loosen_ up a bit?”

 “Well don’t you think you need to take this idea of you and John Watson, and shove it up your-”

 “ _MORIARTY!_ ”

  The two of them blinked at each other a couple of times before they each turned to the one who had fallen through the front door, crying out for the man. Moran’s attitude became even more hostile, his head falling into the palm of his hand.

 “Speaking of Watson…”

 Moriarty had a toothy grin as Harriet swiftly got her way in front of the man, angry tears in her tired eyes that had been rubbed half to death.

 “Harry! You’re looking beautiful this evening. What may I-”

 “Jim, please, I need your help! John has been taken prisoner, and I need someone to help me save him. I can’t do it alone; I need someone to help me. Please, I _need_ you!”

 The man sat back in his chair, his finger resting along his cheekbone as he looked over the woman. “…Who’s taken John?”

 “It was th-th-that thing! The _beast_ from 221B!”

 “That place has been abandoned for _years_.” Moran tuned in, narrowing his eyes at the woman suspiciously.

 “No no, hang on a second Sebby…” Moriarty had a sly grin develop in his features as he stood up before the girl and folded his arms together, looking the girl over. “So… What does this, ‘beast’ look like, _hmm_ Harry?”

 Harriet let out a shuddered breath, putting a hand to her chest as she tried to catch her breath a little and put in her head what the creature looked like. “It was… I-It was _big_ , with fur –b-black fur – _Messy_ fur, everywhere. He was l-like a… _huge_ dog! A mutt with this- th-this long black coat on. And… And these _eyes_. These eyes that made you rethink your whole life story. That made you question _everything.”_

It appeared that the elder Watson decided that was the best place to end the description. She thought back over what she said, and knew that it sounded utterly ridiculous. But there was no other way to describe such a creature. Something so terrifying and utterly absurd. It just blew all sense of right and wrong out of the window.

 “…Uh-hum.” The other responded after a small amount of time, gesturing to a couple of guards by the door. “Well, Harriet, I do believe that it might be time to start going cold turkey with that alcoholism. Starting from –oh, lets say, now perhaps?”

 The girl was scooped up by two large pairs of hands, being carried out –but not without a fight. “No- NO WAIT! Moriarty, I’m telling the truth! Don’t do this to me –you _son of a bitch_! I never ask of anything, and you are always after my brother! _But it’s too late!_ You won’t be involved with Harriet Watson, or John Watson ever aga-” The door slammed shut, and there was a loud thump which could only be described like a bag of bricks being tossed into a large tin can.

 Jim laughed at the ranting of the thought-to-be drunk Harry Watson, sitting back beside Moran. “She’s funny, isn’t she Sebby? Our town drunk has moved on from little adventures to monsters that kidnap her brother.” Jim put the straw to his lips and then took a good long mouthful of his fruity concoction. “I do believe she’ll need therapy sometime soon.”

 “…Therapy…” Moran scratched at his chin sluggishly, looking slowly from the door towards the man beside him. “You want John Watson?” Jim’s eyes were quickly diverted to his best friend, a look of pure interest almost dripping out of those cunning eyes.

 “I think I’ve just thought of a plan…”

* * *

 

 “Well that… was _delicious_.”

 “Yes, it did appear to be particularly… well, particularly _impeccable_ when you haven’t eaten all day, I presume?”

 John sat back in his chair, teacup in hand as he allowed the full feeling to slowly subside. He patted his stomach gently, a content feeling washing over him. This was definitely what he needed right now. A filling meal to make him feel right at home. Of course, the little reminder that he was still talking to objects was always in his mind. Because he was, indeed, talking to household objects. However, it was beginning to be pushed aside, now that it appeared that they were happy to try and make him feel a little nicer. It wasn’t like any of them were trying to hurt or poison him. And so for that reason, he was, obviously, grateful.

 “Give my compliments to the chef. Much better than the toast and jam I would’ve made myself at home.”

 Mycroft gave a little smile, whilst Mrs. Hudson giggled and Lestrade paced around nervously –still very anxious to get John back to his room. John raised his teacup t his lips, making an audibly loud slurp as he sippe. When relaxed, John could have a tendency to be noisy with his drink. However, he wasn’t expecting the little –“O-oh m-m-my!” as he did it however. He pulled the cup away, blinking a couple of times, before taking another loud sip, and receiving the same kind of reaction. “Oh my- O-Oh…Kay….” He pulled away and then looked down to the cup. There in his hands, was a white teacup with burning red cheeks beside delicate pink lips and closed eyes. The tea in the cup boiled, as it got a little more flustered.

 “…Oh… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were –I mean… I thought you was just a cup.”

 He placed the cup on the table and then leant forwards –elbows resting on his knees as he took a closer look at the teacup. It blinked a couple of times and then smiled awkwardly to John, nodding to him gently.

 “I-It’s okay. Honest. I’m just… still not used to that feeling…”

 John gave the teacup a crooked smile, shaking his head gently and then letting out a small sigh. “It would be strange if you were used to the feeling.” He commented, slightly sympathetic. “I’m John Watson.”

 “I-I know.” The cup responded, smiling softly. “We were talking about you in the kitchen.” She smiled, but then appeared to go flustered again, shaking her head. “I-I don’t mean in a mean way. I mean, we were all quite amazed by what you did for your sister. It was very brave of you. I mean, you don’t hear of a lot of brave people now a days.”

 “Lots of people have bravery.”

 “But only a few people will actually know how to use it.”

 Now that was a statement.

 John leant back; his chair tilted on its back legs. “What’s your name?”

 “Hooper. Oh, uhm, I mean Molly. Hooper is my last name. Molly is my first.”

 “Right. It’s nice to meet you M-”

 “My middle name is… Unimportant –sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

 John bit his lip a little and then shook it off, shrugging gently. “It’s nice to meet you, Molly.”

 “Oh, well look at the time!” Lestrade tuned in, pointing to himself as he climbed up the table leg, looking around at the others sat on the table, before turning to John, rubbing his hands together. “So, as nice as it’s been to see you smile, it looks like it’s time that you got back to your room, don’t it?”

 “Greg, please.” Mycroft rolled his eyes, leaning against the table and then shaking his head. “It’s nice to be able to see Watson so relaxed and at home. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile all the while he’s been here.”

 “I think the dear needs to be out of his room. It’s not right, locking away a grown man in a room like that.” The teapot shook her head gently, sighing a soft stream of steam from her spout.

 John drummed his fingers on his knee gently, leisurely sitting upright and raising a finger towards the group. “I don’t mind going back. Can you point me towards the loo first though?”

 “O-Oh, of course! It’s on the top floor, end room. The door knob has been scratched a bit, but it’s only from Sher-”

 Molly had a few dozen hands slapped over her mouth as she almost spilled the beast’s name.

 “Aha. Off you pop anyway Mr. Watson. If you need anything, don’t be afraid to come along and find us!”

 There it was again. The insistent need to keep his name out of any topic about him. It was bloody ridiculous. Holding back the frustration, John nodded and stood up from the table, leaving the room and hearing as he left the few mumbles and groans directed at the small teacup. He couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit sorry for it. A nervous little thing it was –It was apparent that it was unintentional to almost say his name.

 John approached the staircase, pulling a finger across one surface and watching his finger turn grey from all the dust that had built up on it. This place really did need tidying of some sort. It was pretty uncared for around here –which was understandable when most of the people living here were now objects and didn’t actually have the limbs to clean and what-not. If he was going to stay here, perhaps he should help with the housekeeping. Even though it was probably more for the responsibility of this ‘Sher’. What kind of name started with ‘Sher’ anyway? ‘Sherley?’ He somehow doubted that the beast was named ‘Sherley’. The thought was amusing however.

 He was about to walk down the hall to the bathroom, smiling at the thought of the hound-beast named ‘Sherley’ however, he had to stop and stare as a different door caught his eye. It was the door that Mycroft had been in earlier.

 It was slightly ajar and left unlocked. John ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. He really shouldn’t… Oh he really shouldn’t…

But why the hell not. The reader can most likely predict already that he will. 

So, John shrugged, walking down the hallway and pressing the door open. He would sooner rather than later realize that what rested inside could reveal all too much about the owner of 221B…


	5. Chapter 4 - The Soldier and The Skull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Just a little note to say thanks for the comments, bookmarks and Kudos given! Much appreciated and I hope you enjoy future chapters! :D

 

 

C.H.A.P.T.E.R.F.O.U.R. –The Soldier and The Skull

 A few sluggish paces out of the doorway before heavy footsteps slammed down the hallway. He slumped and kept his speed slow –making it obvious that he certainly was in no rush to get to his destination. A few more slothful steps, and he was there. No matter how much he didn’t want to be there, he knew that at some point or another, he would need to at least _try_ doingthis. He needed to look deeper into the mind of the other man.

 Sucking in a hard breath, he let out a short huff, his clothes wafting gently at the breeze it created. He raised a hand and then ever so gently, began knocking it on the wood.

 “…Dr. Watson?” The beast called into the room, one hand rested behind him, in the crook of his back. At receiving a silent response, he looked down momentarily and then took a step back. Understandably, the other was probably upset with his current situation. Well, Watson would just have to listen then, wouldn’t he? “It has come to my understanding that perhaps I was a little… _insensitive_ towards your current predicament. And, although I owe you some form of apology for my behavior, I would also like to reward your brave altruistic actions. It is the true act of a warrior, or a soldier. Not like most imbeciles that have crossed my path. Most…” He ran a tongue across the back of his jagged teeth and then shook his head, dismissing the current sentence his mind was trying to construct. “Well… It doesn’t matter about most. Right now, I am speaking about you and gratifying your bravery. So therefore…” He turned his nose up from the door, squeezing his hands softly behind his back, twiddling his furred thumbs gently.

 “…I… I would like to invite you to dinner, John Watson.”

 He waited for a response. He assumed that the other man was weighing out his options and so left time for the other to think. He waited…. And waited… _And waited_ … Hesitating for all but a moment, he tilted his head slightly, trying to listen to any form of movement within the room. Any sign that perhaps the other man considered it. Considered spending time with him. However, he could barely hear any movement. Any breathing, or any sign of _life_ in fact.

 “…Dr. Watson?” He raised a hand to knock on the door, but instead, he twisted at the doorknob and let himself into the room. “Are you ever going to answer me, or just be childish and sulk to your-” 

And that’s where he had to interrupt himself, because the room was completely bare. Empty. No inhabitants within it, with merely the other man’s shoes sitting in front of the bed.  
 _(Hasn’t left the premises…)  
_ There was a discarded coffee cup on the bedside table. He walked inside and pressed a claw to it. ( _Ice cold_.)  
He turned towards the bed. ( _Unmade –creases in the bed covers, particularly at the edge.)  
_ He took a step out of the room and then looked towards the hallway. Looking down at the carpet, he noticed slight creases. ( _He’s been wandering around… Down to the kitchen by the looks of it –accompanied by Mrs. Hudson no doubt. The tea stains in fact prove that. Not too evident, but gently swishing out of the nozzle when having movement.)_

 The hound gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes and then clutching his hands into fists. How was he meant to give out kind ‘humanly’ gestures towards another when everyone else was intruding all the damn time?! Just as he was about to go down to the kitchen and find the man in question, he noticed something. Another trail of footprints –actually from the same feet ( _size 8, wide_ ) leading further down the hallway towards…

 His chest clenched inwards, tightening as realization struck him hard. The one thing he wanted to keep away from anyone else in this abode was now accompanied by, more or less, a stranger. The worst thing that could have happened, happened.

_(John Watson is in the study.)_

* * *

 

John carefully crept the door open –a whiney squeak erupting from the screws, causing the man to crumple into his own gut. _Smooth, John. Smooth…_

He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting by entering this room. A secret escape? Possibly. Or maybe the slightest insight as to who this bloody ‘Mycroft’s brother’ actually was. That was more likely to be the reason.  He was a rather curious man, not minding the danger if it meant something interesting was happening.

 Well, it probably would be interesting if he could actually tell what was in the room. It was hard to see in such a dark and dank place. John was pissy today anyway and had enough of being kept in the dark. He pulled out his cell phone and turned on the flashlight feature, raising it up to shine a bit of light on the room.

Looking around, it could be said that he would only find out the slightest bit more about what the ‘master of the house’ did. As far as occupation was concerned, that is. There were various items around the room made John think that he may be a police investigator, or something of the sort. There were photographs pinned to a wall -linked together with red and black string. Linking culprits and locations together –he assumed. There were also various objects laid around in plastic bags, and then the stacks upon stacks of books.

 There were other random objects in the room, including a laptop, a whiteboard, a tape player, a television and more. Although he should be intrigued, it seemed that right now he was becoming somewhat annoyed and disgusted. Not by the images of massacre’s pinned about, nor the bloodied weapons. But by the old cups with mould and fungi growing within. As well as that distinct stench of rot in the air. It made him feel somewhat queasy in fact. This place seemed to have no care taken over it at all. It was a misused and discarded room –no, misused _Castle_. Such a beautiful place to live, ruined by the careless nature of its inhabitants.

 John clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shook his head. _Time to leave_ , he thought to himself, slightly disappointed. There was nothing here to describe who the man was –just what he did. He didn’t see any point in sticking around anymore…

 Up until the moment he saw something at the furthest end of the room. Glistening from the pinhole light shining between the crook of the curtains. It was close to the window and away from any of the other messes in the room. Shrouded by darkness, but protected in a glass casing.

 John took a step closer, trying to make out the object that seemed so precious. It made him feel so cautious. He tilted his head at the object within. And when he worked out what it was, he was a little… baffled. A little bit… anxious… and even more _curious…_

The object was a skull.

Cracks along the underneath, looking like they had only just been formed. Not by John, he’d only just entered the room and he hadn’t touched _anything_.  
Well… a skull in a protective glass… it didn’t exactly help to build up a friendly atmosphere –no. But, for some _insane_ reason, John couldn’t help his integument towards it. He was feeling compelled to inspect further and just wanted to look deeper into this bittersweet object. Why was it kept in such a sacred way? Was it of importance? _Probably a relative of his_ , John mused to himself, managing to draw a small smirk to his own face. It wouldn’t surprise him the least if that were what this hound did with his dead relatives.

 John laid his phone down on a surface, turning off the flashlight and then turning towards the glass. Should he…? He really shouldn’t… but… Again, he was feeling that feeling. Being drawn towards the skull. And he just couldn’t shake it off, no matter how much he tried.

 “…Fuck.”

 He reached over and placed his hands on the edge of the glass casing, taking it in either hand and then lifting it ever so slowly, as a means to not knock the bone within. The glass was light, but the skull had a slightly ethereal look to it. So frail and delicate. Like the slightest touch could make it crumble into a pile of dust.

 He tilted his head to one side, taking the glass underneath one arm and then raising his free hand up, flicking his fingertips out. He reached them out towards the object, going to just feel it. Just feel the texture, and see how something so frail and different would feel in his palm…

 “…What the _hell_ are you doing in here?!”

 Knocked back to the here and now, the blonde fell back, eyes shooting straight back to the door. He was met with the hound in question dashing towards him at such a speed; John felt his heart almost beat through his chest. His human like eyes were narrowly digging into John’s, a fierce growl ripping through his hoarse throat and echoing around the whole room, only making a more intimidating noise to shake through John’s bones.

 “Nothing!” John cried defensively, placing the glass casing down quickly on the surface.

 “Oh I bet.” The other replied bitterly, standing high above the soldier. “Snooping around for something, are y-”

 John’s hand dangerously close to the skull cracked at the beast’s rage, turning it from fury to full on frenzy. He took the glass from the surface, swiftly placing it back over the object and then trying ever so hard to fight the urge. The urge to snatch the gun from the mantle piece and place it to John Watson’s temple, firing a bullet right through Watson’s miniscule intellect. He breathed so heavily that his shoulders rose up and down with the motion. Turning towards Watson, he lowered his head and paraded his fangs to John, stepping closer to the man.

 In response, John could only stumble backwards, almost falling over his own feet. “L-look, I’m sorry! I didn’t realise it meant so much to you- I was just being nosey. Please, just, stop this. I’m _sorry._ ” The beast saw the emotions he managed to strike into the other man. Although it had not brought John the distraught and tremor it had to others, he saw the utmost distrust and fear in the pits of his eyes. Terrified beyond belief. _Why should he even bother anymore?_

“ _Get out_.” He spat to the other man, coming to a stand still.

 “…What?”

 “I said, _Get out!_ ” The hound howled boomingly, allowing the growl to linger in the back of his throat yet again. “Or would you rather I gnawed your flesh away from your bones so that I can _get you out of my sight?!_ ”

 John unsteadily shook his head in response to this statement, fleetingly stumbling away from the beast and walking towards the door, unable to take his eyes off of the other. “I… I-I’m really sorry… that I-”

 “ _Leave!_ ”

 And that was exactly what he did.

 Next thing the beast saw was the figure of John from his window, dashing away from the castle as soon as possible. The beast of 221B clasped his hands together, claws digging into knuckles and drawing blood beneath his black fur. The only noise that this made him create was a low growl of disgust. It was tiring and hopeless. Was there any point in even attempting with people? He would never have a chance to appeal to anyone. With a face of a dog, a lanky body of a toothpick, and so much fur that he would put a yeti to shame, he would have no such luck with any kind of person. And it appeared that John Watson was not as different as the hound had hoped.

In his trail of thoughts, the beast grasped onto a desk and turned it over, sending various objects through the glass windows of the study. He slumped to the floor, knees-to-chest and nose-to-knees. Some twat walking in on the man could accuse him of having steam visibly fuming from his ears and he wouldn’t be all that surprised.

 Speaking of some twat…

 Mycroft slipped into the room hastily, eyes flicking all around it before landing upon his brother, a breathless, but stern and demanding expression sunk into his face.

“What the _devil_ are you doing?!”

“Ah. Brother mine. This pitiful excuse for a chance didn’t work out.” The beast spoke up, resting a pair of arched paws in front of his chin. “You were right to call me down to the dungeon this afternoon. I believed that I saw some form of a stronger mind. Something that looked more intellectual and… _more_. But, alas, perhaps not-”

“Oh _shut up.”_

Sherlock appeared taken aback by such a response and twisted his snarl towards the brolly in the doorway. “ _No_. I shan’t.”

“Well, then, shut up about yourself for once, you twit.” Mycroft still sounded urgent and panicked, not letting Sherlock have any real time to respond. “I’ve looked into his file. John Watson, as you may have worked out already, trained to be a doctor, and lives in the local village.

“Obviously-”

“And that little has happened in his life through his recent years… But, with a past of participating in Scouts, St John’s Ambulance, football, adventure camps and paintball, he is apparently a man who enjoys exhilaration and… e-uh, as you put it, _more._ He’s bored. He’s curious. And he aims for a living of helping near strangers. _Sound familiar_? You just sent away that man, who was the _first_ and possibly _only_ person who you could have had a chance with, to a more than certain _death zone.”_ Mycroft pulled back slightly, leaning against the wall. _“_ Have you forgotten that you are perhaps not the only canine that lies in these parts?”

The hound blinked a couple of times, allowing this information to slowly sink in. Some of it he had already picked up. Adventerous, seeking more, curious… He never got round to putting the pieces of John Watson together however. They were separate elements that didn’t fit together to form one person in his head.

His sour expression slowly faded into one of regret. Turning his gaze to the window, there were small water droplets falling onto the glass, and the night was drawing in ever closer. There was no way that a man would survive out there with no weapons and no defenses…

For the first time in a long while, the beast could honestly say that he felt worried for another person’s well-being. And being the man that he was, he wouldn’t stand to just let this emotion wallow in the pit of his stomach like some insolent bystander.

Maybe it was high time that he tried to be of assistance to a stranger once again.

* * *

 

  _Oh God… Oh God, okay. I need to stop for a second…_

John came to a stop, doubling over his knees to catch his breath, resting a hand on a nearby tree. His shoulders rose and fell with his breathing, closing his eyes at the burning sensation in his chest. Had he really been that inactive these past few months that a little bit of running brought him this kind of exhaustion? Wow, he needed to get back into a fitness routine ASAP… John slowly looked up through the tops of his eyes, the bitter-cold rain already soaking his hair and jumper right through, leaving them to stick against his skin. Blinking away the water in his eyes and squinting slightly, he tried to work out where he’d ran himself to.

_I thought it was just… Wait…I thought… keep going straight… But…_

The strange thing was… straight ahead; he could already hear the circling river. The entanglement the waters took around him and this ruddy castle he was running from. It wrapped right around the area in which he was stood, cutting him off from continuing his escape.

“Oh Bollocks.” He exhaled infuriately, spinning on his heels to see if he could spot a different route. It was becoming a gloomy night indeed. Pitch black, the sky appeared to only make his head feel foggier the more he stood there. The weather appeared to copy his moods and feelings throughout the day. Simply getting worse and worse, like everything else happening to him. John glanced down to the ground for a moment, rubbing at his nose as the cold began to dig into him and made it run a little. “Tits to this day... Bloody shit to everything else.” He gently rubbed at the tops of his arms, taking a step forward in hope that he’d be able to find a way around. There had to be more than one way out…

A growl to the left of him made him tense up. Startled at first, but after a mere few seconds, it turned into a grimace that made him glare round to the noise. “I already said I’m leaving! What do you want me to do, _glide_ across that thing?!” he demanded, waving back towards the river frantically.

The noise only became louder at his response, and John dropped his shoulders, oh so tempted to throw a punch on the nose of the mutt. He almost did… up until the point when he realized that it wasn’t the beast he presumed it to be. A muddied grey and shaggy wolf stalked out from the shadows, approaching John in his soggy, dripping state. The man swallowed gently and turned so that he was facing the animal, but backing away slowly.

_Okay… It’s fine Watson. It’s just one wolf. You’re much bigger and stronger than it is. You don’t need to fear it._

And he kept on thinking those comforting words to himself. Up until the point where another wolf followed along after the other. And then another. And then another… And then another…

They just kept on coming until it seemed like a pack had followed the first one out. All of them with their jaws low, fangs bared and heavily defined shoulder blades raised way above them. They each looked prepared for a kill. Something that John certainly wasn’t prepared for right now. He was running on adrenaline and fear. Not the best energy for fighting a pack of wild animals.

_Okay… you’re going to die Watson. But it’s okay. At least… Uh… Okay it’s not so okay. This is such a waste of a life. Sorry John, but it is a real waste. A **huge** waste and it’s about to all be over…_

John felt his gut twist at his own head telling him such harsh words. He took one large inhale, flaring his nostrils out wide and raising his head like a silent salute to himself, before kneeling down on the ground, turning his head away and wincing his eyes shut. He’d rather not watch himself be torn limb from limb, if he had any preference in the matter.

Well this was it. Good night John Watson. Sorry that your life couldn’t work out like you dreamt it could…

He waited for the pain. The jaws and the stinging/burning sensation (would a wolf bite burn?) But the inevitable never arrived.

There was a lot of movement in front of him. Growling and yowling, biting and scuffling. But nothing at him. Were they preparing for something else? Were they fighting over who was going to shove their fangs into him first? He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to look.

Of course, curiosity took th upper hand in this round. He turned and slowly opened his eyes, watching a flurry of black in a coat (upturned collar he might add) attack the wolves before him. His lungs whipped in a trembling breath for support in the situation, it didn’t help much though. And it wouldn’t have mattered if it did anyway, as it was knocked out of him from a shove into the gut. He dropped back for what felt like the twentieth time that day and went skidding through the mud as they fell to the ground in a bundle. Looking up at his attacker, he was met with those same icy blue eyes once more, and was surprised to feel a form of relief wash through him.

“You better not make it a new form of greeting to shove me into the ground.” John murmured through clenched teeth, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “I’m not a chew toy, _fluffy_.”

There was a snuff from the hound, before he pulled away off of John’s chest and sent his body towards the other wolves.

He stood between John Watson, laid on the ground, and the pack in an attack stance, a warning snarl deep within his chest. All at once, the battle commenced, and John Watson had a front row seat to the bloodbath.

Bites here, breaks there, head-butting on that, and numbing cracking sounds everywhere else. John kept his distance from it all, but his fingernails dug deep into his palms, drawing a little bit of blood in some places. He couldn’t stop watching how much the beast endured, all because he was trying to protect John.

It was… obscure. Not a moment ago, he was sure he was going to be the hounds dog chow… and yet, now… the other was stopping that exact fate from happening. And it was… just… peculiar. He flinched and gasped every time he felt a punch that the beast received, as if it was him out there. He inwardly wished that it _was_ him taking those bites and blows. It felt like the other was taking on the world right now…

And then the world stopped.

The other mutts had gone, leaving a bloodied and panting hound limping about, looking as though there wasn’t much light left in him. His knees were just about ready to knock out from beneath him. His breathing was uneven, jagged and doing no good to pump blood around his body. “…D-doctor Waatson?” he slurred out, turning 180 degrees and trudging towards the other man.

John looked at him with a suddenly confounded expression. “How did you know I’m a do-”

But he decided to cut himself off, dashing forwards and (barely) catching the other man as he fell forwards and lost his grip consciousness. “Hey! Come on, no, you’re not allowed to save my life and then die, you twat. That’s not how this works.” Watson told him angrily, gently slapping the other man’s cheek and getting a small groan in response. The other was seriously injured, fractures left right and center. He needed to look him over in a clearer place. Somewhere where mud wouldn’t infect the wounds, and where he could keep warm. John held up the other under his pits and began dragging him along, back the way they came. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson could get boiling. This hound needed a cuppa. Pronto.

* * *

 

 “Oh goodness! You both look… Oh my~!”

Mrs. Hudson’s greeting wasn’t the most heartwarming. But at least it was a greeting of some sort.

“I’m… I’m fee’ing fein...”

“He has a sprained shoulder, possible broken ribs, bruising practically everywhere and a cut open thigh. Get me a medical kit and some painkillers. Anything you’ve got –preferably something strong.”

“Good lord. My brother appears to be acting rather brain-less again.”

That one received Mycroft a feeble glare. And not from hound.

They lead the two of them through the house into the lounge, where the doctor dropped the beast into a large chair. A fire was lit and the creature automatically felt that little bit warmer in his current condition. He flexed all of his fingers out and then felt his body sink into the cushioned chair more and more, his tense muscles relaxing just the slightest. His eyelids flickered shut and his breathing eased into a gentle sleeping pace.

“No no, you need to stay awake, just for a minute. Just wait a minute before nap time Beast-boy.”

“You sound as demanding as my brother.”

He opened his eyes into slits, seeing some sort of pathetic effort to wipe a smirk off of the John Watson’s face.

“Siblings _are_ a pain in the arse, aren’t they?”

“The worst.” He responded bitterly, spitting out a foul taste that was simmering in his throat. “My brother… we… we played pirates when we were younger… and…” The beast drifted away from his sentence, his eyes easing shut as he felt John’s hands begin to hold at his shoulder.

“And what? Come on. Don’t leave me hanging. And what? You’re killing me here.”

The beast strained a little, knowing it was just a technique to keep him talking… but he began playing along. Just for the normal, simple mind before him. “And… he… he would always be the sailor… I would try to attack… and he would make me sign a registration form before I could do it.”

There was a snort from in front of the beast, causing him to smile- just slightly.

“I would never agree to such… boring behavior… but… Mycroft would alwa-”

The beast roared out abruptly, shrieking as his shoulder was jolted into place, sending an unholy amount of pain through his already aching body

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I needed you to stay awake for that part. I know it hurts but it’ll feel better soon enough.”

The beast didn’t need to hope for the pain to fade though, as ever so gently he faded into a well-needed nap. He heard the gentle voice of John Watson as he slipped out of unconscious, not fully taking in what he was saying. Ignoring it quite a bit. It probably wasn’t all that important anyway. Doctoring nonsense. Boring useless information he didn’t need to store in his mind palace.

To the beast, it only felt like a couple of minutes of staring at a black void before he gently returned to reality. But it must have been a great deal longer than that, as when he awoke, the storm had passed and the fire appeared to have burn out, and had been relit again. The flame was of a different shape to what it was when they had first returned to the castle, crackling more splinters on this log. He guessed that it had been a few hours when he finally reopened his eyes. The heaviness and impact of the earlier encounter suddenly weighed down on him like a sack of potato’s. Or a Grande piano.  Multiple Grande pianos. Multiple Grande pianos placed on every limb of his body. He didn’t need to look. He felt the tight bandaging around his waist. He guessed that one or two of his ribs had been broken. There were also stitches tracing up his inner thigh. John had to stitch up his inner thigh? That must have been awkward for that poor doctor.

_That doctor._

_John Watson._

_Where was he? Was he okay?_

“Oh. You’re awake.”

The beast’s eyes widened and he looked opposite him. In a smaller, wider, lighter shaded chair sat the man in question himself. John closed the book he had been reading and placed it on a coffee table just beside him. He exhaled heavily, causing the hound to cock up an eyebrow. “You had us all worried for a moment there.”

_Worried? You? The man I chased away? The man who I kept his sister as a prisoner?_

“You looked in… Well, bad knick is the nicest way to put it. A bloody mess though really. Really, _really_ was not looking pretty. You passed out, and had it not been for constantly taking your pulse, we would’ve guessed that you were just gone. Your brother looked kind of prepared to chuck you in a black-bag pretty quick though.”

He rolled his eyes gently. _Why am I not surprised by that?_ He listened to the sound of a sweet chuckle, glancing up towards Watson and surprised to see a knowing smile on the other’s face. The beast was confused by the expression and put his fingertips together in front of him, forming his neutral position. “What are you smirking at?”

“Uhm… You?”

He flustered up a bit at that response, blinking a couple of times in utter befuddlement.

“Me?”

“Yes. You’re an absolute idiot.”

Again, there was the blinking. No one ever called him an idiot. It just didn’t fit his personality.

“Care to explain your deduction, Doctor Watson?”

“Storming in down there, after someone you so hastily wanted to get rid of? Only a twat without any sense of right or wrong would chase after someone they hated and risk their lives for them.”

“Oh… well… perhaps I should have left you down there. Allowed a few stray canines to rip their fangs into your warm flesh and pull you apart.”

“Well, yes. Perhaps you should have, because at least then you would have me out of here.”

“Indeed. And you would be- ahem, uh… I… wait…” The beast trailed off slowly, realizing what the Doctor might be insinuating. He twisted his gaze away from the other for a moment, biting his lip gently and then looking back up to him.

He was… _staying_? After the way he had reacted towards him? After he looked so terrified of him before? After all _that_?

John gave him a soft smile, turning his eyes towards the fire and then rubbing the back of his neck. He was slightly bruised up, but it was nothing that couldn’t fade within time. No sort of serious injuries had come his way. Not after the other appeared… “I know that I owe you a form of thanks… for… what you did… out there… maybe a pint or something…” John paused for a moment. It was shameful that he couldn’t defend himself in that sort of situation. There were plenty of hunters back home. He just wasn’t one of them.

Nonetheless, he did feel rather grateful for the way that the beast was there almost instantly to help him out. But there was one problem now. He didn’t view the other as a ‘beast’ anymore. He just didn’t have that kind of vibe after such a selfless act. And so he just wanted to find out one thing tonight. Just one little piece of information. “But, before I do, may I just formally introduce myself…”

The hound watched with a slightly amused expression as John climbed to his feet and stepped towards the other man, holding out his hand and tilting his head gently to one side. “John Watson. _Doctor_ , John Watson. Youngest of the Watson household.”

The beast paused for a moment, staring at the other’s hand with precaution. Should he…? He grunted to himself, before grinding his teeth together and pulling himself out of his chair. If he were to make an official introduction, he would want to do it properly. He pushed himself up… A little too quickly though, as he seemed to stumble about when he first made his way to his feet. It appeared that his legs were still painfully numb, from whatever antibiotic John had used to keep him from feeling too much pain whilst sewing the stitches. He flailed about slightly, trying fruitlessly to stand up straight, but it just didn’t work, and he ended up just falling about more and more. Eventually, he was caught by John, and through simple instincts, he wrapped an arm around the others neck to hold himself up. It looked and felt rather similar to when a fawn first learnt how to walk and needed the support of it’s mother before it really got going. They both laughed at the peculiar act of such a large, strong beast stumbling about and trying to keep himself balanced, before he finally stood upright. They rolled their eyes and then finally looked towards each other. And, in fact, the beast looked at John, properly, for the first time that day.

Olive, warm eyes that suggested the goodness he always wanted to inflict upon the others around him. The smile of genuine content, and a face that could dissipate any anxiety a man felt. A sharp _, smart_ sense of clothing and a strong, independent personality. All of that accompanied by a form of lust. Not romantic lust, or sexual. But more… lust for something different. Extraordinary. _Adventure._ He didn’t look grumpy like he had earlier that day. In fact, he almost looked slightly pleased, holding up the taller man. He was lead to believe that this could be one of the first times John Watson had smiled without forcing it out, without trying to just appeal to the better nature of others, today. And it made the beast feel somewhat special and unbelievably… fuzzy.

No. He couldn’t be the beast anymore. Not to this man, anyway.

The hound pressed his hand out between the two of them, lowering it down to John’s palm and holding it gently.

“…Sherlock Holmes. Youngest Holmes and owner of 221B Baker Street Manor.”

That smile that Sherlock was admiring grew even larger. Finally. John had found his answer he had been searching for _all bloody day._

“It’s an absolute pleasure Mr. Holmes.”

“Just Sherlock. Please, just call me Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled even more as John simply shrugged at it and accepted it.

“Okay, well… Thank you, _Sherlock_.”

Sherlock gently let go of John’s hand, nodding to him softly in return. _No, Thank you, John._


End file.
